


that's what they say when we're together

by jugheadjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, THIS WRITING IS ASS, julia what... are you doing, tales from the darkside, young halram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 18:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13886277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: The one where Hal and Hiram get an apartment together in New York when they graduate high school.





	that's what they say when we're together

**Author's Note:**

> honestly... yuck this is not so good

The hardest adjustment in moving to New York City post-grad to share a bachelor apartment with Hiram Lodge was definitely the food. **  
**

Hiram eats the same meal every day: a chicken breast and some sauteed veggies. Once a week - _once,_  on his cheat day - he allows himself to roll his chicken in a single low-carb tortilla.

One tortilla. For cheat day. No dessert, but sometimes Hiram will sit around crunching ice shavings between his teeth as a palate cleanser.

By Saturday of their first week, enough is enough. Hal orders himself a pizza: a large one, with extra cheese and extra pepperoni. Ham too, and pineapple, because Hiram likes pineapple and Hal figures he might like a slice.

He figured wrong, turns out, but hey. More for him.

“Why are you such a fucking glutton?” asks Hiram, one leather-booted foot balanced up on a moving box like a pirate captain at the prow of his ship. His hands settle on his hips as he surveys Hal on the couch. “That’s your fifth piece of pizza. No one eats that much. That’s disgusting.”

Hal has known Hiram too long to rise to the argument. He licks some pizza grease off his fingers. Hiram’s frown gives way to an amused smirk.

“It’s kind of hot,” says Hiram, and steps across Hal’s legs so he’s straddling his lap. He reaches down and fists one hand aggressively in the front of Hal’s buttondown, yanking him up off the couch. Hal automatically grips Hiram’s forearms to balance himself, and Hiram leans in and presses his tongue into Hal’s mouth in a kiss. The kiss is so passionate that Hal swears he can feel him on his tonsils.

“Is that your way of eating pizza without the calories?” asks Hal with a sly smile when they finally break apart. Hiram scowls and grabs his collar again, yanking him forward so that they’re breathing the same air.

“Shut up.”

Hal relaxes into him, lets Hiram’s tongue tangle hot and needy against his as he tosses his arms around Hiram’s neck. Hiram’s fingers curl painfully in the back of Hal’s hair. Hiram kisses with his teeth, and Hal can taste the coppery tang of blood inside his lip when Hiram draws back to suck a mark into the underside of his throat. Hal groans softly and Hiram moves lower along his neck, biting hard into his collarbone and sucking there.

“Jesus Christ,” moans Hal, gripping Hiram tighter. “Jesus  _Christ_.”

Hiram slips out of his grasp and steps back, eyes glittering playfully. “Not my name.”

“Come on, Hiram.” Hal knows the register of his voice is approaching a needy whine, but he doesn’t care. “Come on.”

“God, I wish your parents could see you now.” Hiram starts laboriously undoing the buttons on the front of Hal’s shirt, slipping it off Hal’s shoulders when he reaches the bottom. The shirt hits the bare floor of their new apartment with a soft puddling sound, and Hiram turns his attention to Hal’s belt buckle, loosening it with a single yank. “Bed doesn’t get delivered until tomorrow, you know.”

“We have a mattress. We can sleep on the floor.”

“What are you talking about, sleep?” Hiram undoes Hal’s zipper and yanks his pants down so that they fall to the floor. Hal’s left standing in his boxer briefs. “We said we were going to go out all night. We have the entirety of New York City nightlife at our fingertips. You want to sleep?”

“Maybe I’m tired.”

“Well, get used to it.” Hiram’s voice is deep and throaty as one of his hands skates down the length of Hal’s spine. “Get it?”

Something about these four walls around them is indescribably luxurious: the total privacy of this blank, empty, unpainted space in a city of millions. Total privacy. Complete anonymity. The gossipy nexus of Riverdale seems light-years away.

Hal’s parents weren’t exactly happy with his decision to move to New York, but they seemed to be comforting themselves with the idea that it was some kind of postadolescent rebellious phase, and that he’d make some awful mistake and return to them within the year. Hal has no intention of proving them right.

Hal’s through being nice.

“Aren’t you glad it’s you and me?” Hiram murmurs, moving closer, his lips brushing against Hal’s as he speaks. Up close, Hiram smells amazing. Hal closes his eyes and inhales. “Just us. No one in here to stop us. No more Alice. No more Hermione.” He laughs. “God, Fred’s probably got her knocked up by now, what do you think?”

“I dunno,” says Hal truthfully. Riverdale and New York City are some ninety miles apart, but recently it’s been feeling more like nine million. He hasn’t spared a thought to their old hometown since they’ve been here, except for an odd bout of homesickness on the second night.

“Exactly,” says Hiram. “It doesn’t matter.” He steps back slightly so he can look up into Hal’s eyes, and Hal feels an incredible intensity and tenderness in his upturned gaze. Their eyes meet for a long, long time, a time that seems to stretch into forever, and Hal feels something pass between them.

Then Hiram draws back and hits him hard on the arm, the same motion with which he’d shoved off their first kiss in sophomore year, and Hal understands somehow that he had almost said something unthinkable. Something that had never been part of the equation of him and Hiram: something similar if not identical to  _I love you._

The thought is astounding to him. He and Hiram had moved here to be bachelors together. He had expected to be watching a steady stream of women in and out of Hiram’s bed, a veritable parade of material for the society column. Had expected to spend late nights drinking in bars, crashing on friends’ couches as he waited for Hiram’s conquests to clear out.

But here they are.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” says Hiram instead, looking down at Hal’s body. Hal squirms under the weight of his gaze. Gorgeous is not a word Hal hears often. Gorgeous is not used for boys like him. Hal knows other words to describe his appearance. Husky, the one that comes to mind, the nightmare of his childhood trips to the mall to find pants.

Gorgeous is a Hermione word. Gorgeous is for other boys. This whole city is for other boys - ones who take business classes and wear suit jackets and have the good sense to pull out before they get a girl pregnant back home. Fast, sleek, skinny, worldly, pretty boys who look like models and talk like they’re having a conversation with Jesse James. Boys like Hiram.

Hiram drags his nails lightly down Hal’s chest and Hal wants to tell him he’s wrong. No. He’s not.

“You too,” whispers Hal instead, and Hiram tugs on his lower lip with his teeth. Hal lets his eyes slide closed, surrendering himself to the smell of him. What was that cologne? It was sitting uncapped on their bathroom counter.  _Borrow it anytime,_  Hiram had said. They were roommates now.

They’d made it. All those stupid conversations they’d had in the back of Hiram’s car in the pouring rain. All the times they’d wanted to get out. They’d taken off and left Riverdale behind them. Back in Riverdale, Hal could have been the chubby kid forever. The nice kid.

Not here. Here he’s no one.

“I love this place,” he says, forgetting about the goddamn traffic, and Hiram smiles.

“I knew you would,” he says, as though he’d built New York City personally for Hal. As far as Hal’s concerned, he might as well have. “I knew you’d like it.”

“I love it,” replies Hal impulsively, and Hiram’s smile gets wider.

“Fuck, this is all we needed, right?” he asks, running his hand up and down Hal’s arm. “Fuck everyone else. Let’s go out and live a little.”

Hal thinks about it for the first time since that second night. The river. The school. The beach. The park. His parents’ house. He sees himself at once, another version of himself, starkly: a twenty-something-year-old in coveralls, working in a garage, going home to raise a kid who would have to buy pants size  _husky._

This was better. This was much better.

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting Hiram’s hand drift lower along his body. “Live a little.” 


End file.
